


Recorder

by ChloShow



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloShow/pseuds/ChloShow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck confronts Kim, Howard, and Ernesto about Jimmy's confession, and they deal with the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Chuck shows her the tape, she doesn’t break down. Chuck wants a reaction, and knowing what a manipulative asshole he is gives her incentive to keep a poker face. Hearing Jimmy confess angers her beyond reason, but that’s between her and Jimmy. She’d be damned before she gives Chuck anything for his voyeuristic power trip.

“Is that all you have to show me?” she delivers, unimpressed.

His face falls with shock, “You heard what he said, right? He confessed to a felony. We can get him disbarred. He’ll go to prison!”

At the mention of “We,” Kim narrows her eyes. Is Chuck _that_ confident in his abilities that he thinks he’s swayed her? Or is he just so sure that, as a woman, she’ll choose the most simple, emotionally available choice?

“I’m sorry Chuck, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have a lot of paperwork to sort through.”

“Oh, that’s it, huh?” he plunges forward as if he’s caught another rat in a trap, “You don’t want to bring this to court because that means you could lose Mesa Verde. I see what you two have in common now. I never understood why such a promising young woman would fall for my brother, but now I have the answer. Slippin’ Jimmy and Kimmy. Howard was right to be so hard on you. In fact, he should’ve fired you when he had the chance!”

He was firing shots at every sensitive spot imaginable, but she knew better than to listen. Kim doesn’t respond verbally, but her blank, pitying face packs a punch more damaging than a last word.

The silence juxtaposed to his rant illuminates just how far he went to attack Kim, and he steps down.

“I suppose I’ll show myself out then.”

She follows Chuck once he exits, watching him drag Ernie back to his car. Jimmy spots him, but the greeting dies on his lips after Chuck blatantly ignores his presence.

Much to her distaste, Jimmy approaches her instead of welcoming his next client.

“What was all that about?”

She lies. She’s been lying a lot lately, but right now is not the most opportune moment to tackle a relationship crisis.

“I don’t know. Anyway, I have to catch up on Mesa Verde. The donut and coffee run put me off pace with my schedule, so I’ll see you at home.”

The guilt trip gives an edge to her voice. She hopes it stings Jimmy like a wasp on a bright, promising summer’s day.

***

Kim spends an extra two hours in at the office, dreading the evening and the inevitable fallout. She grabs dinner on the way home; sipping from a large Whataburger lemonade keeps her from smoking an entire pack of cigarettes before she arrives at her apartment.

Marching up the stairs and opening her door, she’s greeted by a, “Surprise!”

Jimmy extends a bouquet of flowers, beaming, “I got you some daffodils and Rear Window on DVD. I checked, and you didn’t have it in your collection. If you want, I’ll even do my Jimmy Stewart impression. See, I told ya I’d make the coffee thing up to you.”

She doesn’t reach for the bouquet. It’s so hard to stay mad at Jimmy, but this wasn’t something that could be patched up with charm and a couple gifts.

“Chuck told me you went to see him today. He said you confessed to doctoring the Mesa Verde documents.”

Jimmy’s face drops, and he sets his presents down on the bed, “So this is what it’s about. We’re finally broaching the subject. Well, I got rid of the evidence at the Xerox shop like you said, so we’re in the clear.”

There was that “We” again.

“He had a tape, Jimmy. He recorded your confession.”

At first he’s incredulous, but he can tell Kim’s not bluffing, “And he showed you this tape?“

“He played it for me.”

“God,” he turns around, pushing his hair back to think when reality dawns on him, “You _knew he had a tape_ , and you didn’t tell me _immediately_? I could go to jail, Kim! In fact, why am I not already in jail? I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to destroy that tape.”

“Jimmy. Jimmy,” she intones as he buzzes about the room, pulling on a jacket, checking his phone, “ _Jim_ my, JIMMY!”

He freezes from panicked energy to anxious dread, “He has evidence against me. I have to do something about it.”

“It’s hardly evidence. We could easily present him as unstable and paranoid in court—“

“Court? I’m not taking this to court, Kim. I’m erasing that tape,” he approaches her, trying to make her understand the gravity of the situation.

“If I’m going to help you out of this, we’re doing it the right way. No erasing tapes. No obstructing justice. That’s just one more felony to tack onto this whole disaster.”

Jimmy’s mouth creases into a tight line, but he throws his hands up in surrender, “Fine. We’ll do it your way, but I’m telling ya, I’m not getting any sleep until I can contact Howard first thing tomorrow.” He looks at the bouquet resting on Kim’s bedspread, crinkling the cellophane and wishing things could be simpler.

“There’s…something else,” she knew Jimmy would take the Chuck news hard, but she couldn’t stop now.

“Hm? Something else? Like what,” his fight is gone, but acid still tinges his words.

“I don’t want you to go to prison, and I will help you through this case, but I think we should stop seeing each other,” she wrings her hands together, afraid to see Jimmy’s reaction.

There’s a moment of static where Jimmy tries to wrap his head around the idea of life without Kim, and it’s like the room’s suddenly too far away and his head’s spinning. He doesn’t respond.

“I think we’re better as friends, and I want to stay friends, but this—“ she gestures with her voice to the shared bed, closet, toothbrush holder, “This is over.”

A shadow clings to Jimmy’s face, wrapping him in a cold layer of protection.

“Was it the Chuck thing? I have to know the reason, or—I don’t know, I just have to,” he pleads openly, searching for the answer in Kim’s face.

“It’s not just the Chuck thing. It’s more than that. It’s—“ she struggles for the words, “We’re too different. I thought maybe we could make it work, but it’s too much for me.”

“Too much what, too much me? Am _I_ too much?” Jimmy breaks. He’s not accusatory or aggressive; he genuinely wants to know what’s wrong with him so that he can fix it.

“You want too much from me, and I just _can’t_ give you what you want,” she feels a tear leaking down her cheek and lets out a shaky breath, “I can’t let you stay here tonight, but I’ll give you money for a hotel so I’m not just—kicking you out on the street.” She laughs to break the tension and ends up crying harder.

“No, no, I—keep your money. I’ll find a place. I always do.” He's tempted to comfort Kim, but the best he can do is a wry smile.


	2. Chapter 2

“Mr. McGill, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Ernie stares up at Howard’s stucco abode with a sense of foreboding. After Chuck cleared up the whole situation with the fake resignation letter at HHM, Howard was visibly agitated and politely refused to hear his theory behind why he lost the Mesa Verde deal. Now, at 8PM, Ernie sits behind the wheel of his car directly in front of Howard Hamlin’s house while Chuck roughly folds his space blanket.

“I don’t need your input, Ernesto,” he shoots with more than a little annoyance, exiting the car and adjusting himself to the outside world.

“I just don’t want to get fired for this.”

Chuck sighs, further exasperated but still gracious enough to allay his assistant's concerns, “Don’t be ridiculous. He can’t fire you without my approval. Now, where is the recorder?”

Ernie hands him a satchel containing the tape recorder through the open car door. Chuck clutches the handle at the base of the bag and turns toward the house, leaving Ernie to reach across the passenger seat to shut his door for him.

The radiation from the lights illuminating the walls of the house buzz audibly as Chuck nears the entrance, and the doorbell rings in his ear like a fire alarm. A tense 10 seconds pass before Howard answers the door wearing a matching robe/pajama combo and house shoes.

“Chuck, what are you doing here?”

Howard’s more shocked than angry, which gives Chuck the time to put his foot in the door (figuratively) and pitch his case.

“I know you’re not happy to see me, but I have _proof_ that Jimmy doctored the Mesa Verde documents,” he lifts the bag to indicate the evidence.

Howard stares at the satchel with knitted brows, debating some unknown hypotheticals before allowing Chuck admission into his home, “Come inside.”

***

Pressing the stop button on the dated machine elicits a soft _click_. Throughout the entire playback of the recording, Howard’s face is an indiscernible mask.

“Well?” Chuck prompts. In his opinion, his partner should frankly be jumping for joy at the possibility of putting Jimmy away. He’s always been a nuisance to HHM, and now Chuck has the lock _and_ key to Jimmy’s cell. When Howard still doesn’t speak, he fills the silence with his own conjectures, “We could get Mesa Verde back! Not only that, but we could put Jimmy away for a _long_ time. If we wanted to, we could implicate Kim too, get her disbarred. She’s clearly involved.”

This breaks Howard’s concentration, “Kim? What does she have to do with any of this?”

“Well, she covered for Jimmy when I told her he was behind everything. She may not be smart enough to resist my brother’s charms, but she _is_ a good lawyer. And if we’re very lucky, she may have assisted Jimmy in clearing his paper trail.”

“I think we’ll be able to talk about this better tomorrow,” Howard promptly ends their impromptu meeting, “For now, get some rest, and let Ernie go home for Christ’s sake.”

This didn’t make sense. No one was reacting the way they should be. He understood Kim, but Howard too? If Howard wouldn’t celebrate with him, there was nothing left for him to do except go home and start the paperwork on his case against Jimmy:   
  
McGill v. McGill.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy unlocks the door to the offices of Wexler & McGill, flicking on the lobby lights then extinguishing them. The cheery yellow is a visual nightmare on his retinas, and the rainbow threatens to send him into a destructive frenzy. With a small suitcase, a pillow, a carton of orange juice, and a bottle of gin in tow, he parks himself on the largest couch.

Without the gift of forethought or giving a shit, he doesn’t have a cup to mix his drink in, so he pours out a quarter of the orange juice into the bathroom sink, empties the whole bottle of gin into the carton, swishes it around, and gives it a go. Not too bad. Marco would be proud of his ingenuity.

This last thought dampens his eyes. He didn’t cry during his friend's funeral, couldn’t even look at the casket. Instead of grieving, he let himself believe Marco was just back in Cicero, inaccessible but alive. Faced with the reality of Chuck exaggerating his symptoms to provoke a confession and Kim breaking it off with him, he stares at his friend’s ring situated on his pinky and starts to well and truly break down.

He wants comfort. He wants Kim. He wants Marco. But all he has left is a carton of booze to deaden the memories.


	4. Chapter 4

As Ernesto drives into a parking spot at HHM, he wonders if asking for a pay raise will get him fired. The miles he’s clocked on his car and the recently long hours should equate to some sort of overtime besides what he’s been compensated. He’d ask Kim and Jimmy if they weren’t so busy with their own problems to give him legal advice.

Lying for Jimmy hadn’t made him feel guilty, but Chuck’s wrath certainly did. The variations of “I told you so, Ernesto” he’d heard since yesterday afternoon had worn his patience, and in contrast to his consistently tidy, professional appearance, he walked like a man in need of three nights’ sleep.

Before he was to drop off the required items on Chuck’s list for the day, Howard had instructed him to meet at his office bright and early at 8AM. There were no weekends in the eyes of Hamlin or McGill.

He meets the eyes of Howard’s receptionist, and she mouths, “Go ahead,” with a telephone receiver propped between her ear and elbow, typing away at the keyboard in front of her. Expecting the meeting to be short—impersonal—he leaves the door open as he found it until Howard notices his presence.

“Ah, Ernie, shut the door if you would.”

Closing the office off from the rest of the building gives Ernie a sense of anxiety. The phrase “behind closed doors” tiptoes into his consciousness, alerting him to the visceral meaning of the phrase and to the purpose of his meeting with Howard.

“How are you doing Ernie? Please, take a seat,” Howard rises from his desk and waits for Ernesto to sink into a white leather chair before following suit.

The game is simple, but it took him a while to figure out. If you don’t answer any of Hamlin’s pleasantries, he zips straight to the point. He and Jimmy used to joke that Howard was a robot programmed for politeness and corporate efficiency. Well, Jimmy did most of the joking; Ernesto mainly laughed and enjoyed his friend’s company.

With a smile, he prompts Howard to the next topic on the docket.

“There’s no easy way to start this conversation, so I’ll get right to the point. You drove Chuck to my house last night; is that correct?” It’s not really a question; of course Howard knew he drove Chuck around like a chauffeur.

“Yes, sir.”

“And he’s shown you this tape of his?”

“The one about Jimmy?” He starts to sweat. It doesn’t escape his attention that Chuck may have told Howard he suspected him of covering for Jimmy.

“Yes. And you’re fully aware of the implications such a tape has?”

This was it. Chuck wanted him gone and couldn’t do it himself. “I think so.”

“I’ll just say that it could cause a lot of damage to the firm’s reputation if Chuck were to play it in court for example.”

“Wait…so I’m not fired?”

Howard leans forward, noticing the concern in his employee’s eyes for the first time, “No, you’re not fired. I _need you_ to do something for me, Ernie.”

“What do you need me to do?” Whatever it was, it couldn’t be worse than living as Chuck’s servant, could it? He squints, following Howard’s hand to his pocket to see him pull out an old cassette tape.

“I need _you_ to take the tape from Chuck’s recorder and replace it with this,” he slips the confederate tape onto the desk between them. “Bring the original back to me once you’re finished.”

He expected lawyers were crooked but only in movies and Law & Order. Confronted with criminal activity by the so-called caretakers of the law made him nervous, but was he allowed to say no?

“I don’t think I can do this. Chuck—Mr. McGill watches my every move, and he’s already suspicious of me.”

“Figure it out. Because if I don’t get that tape, it could mean the end of HHM,” whether or not he was bluffing about the tape’s importance, Hamlin was telling, not asking, and that triggered the feeling of a vice around Ernesto’s life, shutting ever so slightly with each word from his employer. “And when you do deliver the tape to me, you’re going to say the tape was always blank. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he could take the risk, say no, lose his job, but he thinks of the consequences for Jimmy. Despite his bitterness about being sucked into an actual secret plot against Chuck, he thinks at least his friend will be safe.


	5. Chapter 5

The weight of Howard’s instructions on top of Chuck’s groceries is nearly unbearable, but he manages to shuffle across the doorway into the house anyway.

While Ernie dumps the ice into the 52 quart cooler, Chuck stoops over his desk, thick law books splayed open, dissected in front of him.

“Ah, Ernesto, I’m glad you’re back,” he calls from the study, “Could you put on another pot of coffee? I need to get everything sorted before the meeting at 2.”

“Will do, Mr. McGill,” he takes the coffee pot from the stove, fills the container with water, lights the gas burner, and waits with the blank cassette tape burning a hole in his satchel. The white noise from the boiling water soothes him, distracts him from his employer in the other room.

After driving to Hamlin’s house last night, Chuck had them stop off at HHM to pick up some files before returning home. He hadn’t gotten to sleep until midnight, the first time in three days he’d been able to sleep longer than 3 hours in a row. Jimmy had to put up with this for a year and a half, and Ernesto supposed anyone would crack if they had to spend that much time waiting on Chuck hand and foot.

A breathy whistle reminds him of the coffee, and he moves the pot immediately to an unlit burner to avoid Chuck’s complaints about the noise. Opening the kitchen cabinet, he extracts matching dark gray mugs: one cup for Chuck and the other to keep Ernie on his feet. He sleepwalks through the electricity-free process he’s done 100 times now, working the water through the Aeropress until he has two cups of black coffee.

He removes Chuck’s soy creamer and his own dairy creamer from the cooler. Spending enough time at the McGill residence had warranted him buying coffee supplies to his own liking. Besides, Chuck disliked Ernie using any of his food whatsoever, so it was either buy his own CoffeeMate or stomach the bitterness.

Pouring creamer into each cup, he’s struck with a flash of genius.

“Ernesto, is the coffee ready?”

He takes both mugs in hand and sips from Chuck’s (disgusting soy milk) coffee on the way into the study. Naturally, Chuck takes the other mug without a second thought, downing a large gulp then wrinkling his nose.

“This tastes like dairy. You know I’m lactose intolerant,” his voice drips with contempt.

“I’m sorry. I must’ve switched them up and took yours instead. I’ll make you another cup,” he returns to the kitchen, triumphant that Chuck would soon have to leave his work unattended. Because Chuck expects so little of him, he could make such a ‘mistake’ without him suspecting foul play.

Noon arrives along with Chuck’s gastrointestinal troubles. Ernie’s pierced with a reproachful glare as Chuck passes him for access to the bathroom.

Once he hears the door shut, he makes his move. Popping open the tape recorder, he pockets the incriminating cassette and inserts the confederate, setting the machine back in its place until he realizes the new tape’s ribbon isn’t spooled like the other’s. Ernie compares the real cassette to the fake and fast-forwards as necessary, coughing slightly to hide the low whirring noise. When the ribbons are more or less equal, he resets the scene just as he hears a toilet flush.

Without thinking, he tucks the real tape into the back of his pants, hoping his belt will obscure the hidden object. Chuck hasn’t listened to the recording since Ernesto had arrived, so he predicts he won’t play it again until the meeting. However, that hope doesn’t keep Ernie from worrying an ulcer into his gut.


	6. Chapter 6

Kim unlocks the doors to their offices to find Jimmy passed out on the sofa. He stirs at the jangle of keys, blocking the sunlight that illuminates Kim like an angel.

“Jimmy…” She should’ve given him money for a hotel because she knew he would do this. He feels guilty, so he wants to suffer.

“Hmm?”

“It’s,” she glances at her watch, “10AM. What happened to ‘contacting Howard first thing tomorrow?’”

He stretches, groaning from the shitty sofa that was apparently great for sitting but fucking lousy for a full night’s sleep, “Like many plans I’ve had, it never materialized.”

“Listen, Jimmy, I know you’re used to a— _different_ professional atmosphere, but if you’re going to spend the night here, you can’t sleep in the lobby. You’re lucky I’m not a potential client walking in on their half-dressed, hungover lawyer,” she doesn’t have confirmation that he’s hungover until after the fact when she spies the empty glass bottle on the floor, but she knows him well-enough to assume.

“Come on. Who’s itching for legal help early on a _Saturday_? Leave the third degree for when I’m fully conscious,” he reaches for his button-up draped over the side of the most adjacent lobby chair, dressing himself at his own pace.

“We can get you a pull-out couch for your office if that’s what you need until you can find an apartment,” she can’t feel guilty about this because it’s what’s best for the both of them, but imagining Jimmy sleeping on a pullout couch in his office again makes her feel like her colleague’s slipping backward.

“Fine,” The stench of gin wafts as Jimmy disturbs the stale air. He’s couch surfed for years; a month or two…or three living in his office won’t hurt.

She doesn’t feel right walking past him to her office without something more sympathetic, less combative, “How are you doing?”

Apparently, that was the wrong move.

“Oh, you don’t lead with that? Okay, well, I’m technically homeless, Chuck hates me, and on top of that shit sandwich, my future as a lawyer is up in the air because I’m doing right by a friend,” he’s seething without the excuse of alcohol for the bite in his voice.

There’s not much to unpack without getting into another fight so Kim clutches her briefcase and makes a fleeting moment of eye contact, “I have to get to work.”

As Jimmy stews in rage, self-pity, regret, disgust, and any of the other fun emotions, Kim stops at the threshold of her office, fully receiving the impact of the last item on Jimmy’s list as if she’d just decrypted a secret message, “Thank you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Walking with a cassette hidden in his pants wasn’t the easiest thing he’d ever done. Pretending like he was sneaking candy into a movie hadn’t helped make it any less stressful either. He made sure to keep behind Chuck, which is what he did most of the time anyway, so it wasn’t too out-of-the-ordinary.

Chuck emanates a smug, righteous aura like car exhaust, suffocating Ernie in the process. Howard greets them at the front of the building, shaking Chuck’s hand and receiving nonverbal confirmation from Ernie that their plan has been executed. Ascending the HHM stairs and arriving at his office, the tense trio experiences a hiccup as Howard beckons Ernie into the meeting.

“And you as well Ernie. You deserve to be a part of this.”

Fairly fazed, Chuck blinks a few times and gestures for his assistant to stay put, “Ernesto has no place in a meeting between the partners.”

“I’m afraid he does,” Howard puts on a grave face, nodding for Ernie’s permission to enter.

The four white chairs make a strange case for seating with Ernie unsure of which side of the divide he should choose. Howard sits facing the exit; Chuck sits in front of the black and white depiction of an unraveling Buddha. Ernie slips behind Chuck, choosing the chair adjacent to his older employer. Strangely, the fourth seat doesn’t feel empty; instead, the idea of George Hamlin hangs in the unoccupied air.

“I have all the necessary files to immediately begin the suit against Jimmy. Everything’s in order, so the first thing I think we should do is call for his arrest,” Chuck lays a manila folder open on the table for Hamlin to survey, but there’s no sign of interest from his partner.

“First, I think I’d like to listen to your key piece of evidence again. We were both tired last night, and I want us to hear it again with fresh ears.”

“That doesn’t seem necessary, but I’m willing to oblige. Ernesto, remove the tape recorder from my bag please.”

Ernie unzips the satchel and places the recorder on top of the open manila folder so that Chuck doesn’t have to come in contact with the machine’s electricity.

“Would you mind rewinding it as well?” Chuck instructs Ernie as Howard observes with contempt.

The tape whirs back to its place at the start, and Ernie presses play, heart beating out of his chest.

Silence.

A few seconds tick by as Chuck waits for Jimmy’s voice, face slowly twisting into itself, “No, no, it starts right away. Where is it?” He throws caution to the wind and fast-forwards the tape himself, stopping incrementally to detect any sign of sound with increasing panic.

“Chuck…” Hamlin’s sympathetic and pitying tone only ruffles Chuck’s feathers.

“No, no, Howard. Ernesto. You both heard it! Kim, too! It can’t be gone! Something must’ve…Ernesto, you don’t carry anything magnetized into the house do you?” he’s red, floundering for an explanation.

“No, sir.”

“That’s the only explanation. Unless…” his eyes unfocus in horror.

“Chuck, there was never anything on the tape.”

“No.”

Howard looks to Ernie for backup.

“Mr. McGill, it’s true. I just didn’t want to say anything.”

“When you played this for me last night, I wondered if you were overworked, exhausted from your stay at the hospital. Clearly, this is something more troubling,” Howard leans forward, presses the hard plastic button to stop the tape from rolling any longer.

All the oxygen may have well been sucked out of the room because Chuck flapped his mouth like a dying goldfish, “Both of you. Turned against me. Howard, maybe you I can understand, but you Ernesto? When have I treated you with anything other than the utmost respect?”

Thankfully, Howard answers for Ernie who’s thrown off balance by the accusation.

“This is what I wanted to speak with you about. The way that you treat Ernie, making him drive you around late into the night so that you can pitch me your theories only to accuse us of conspiring against you. Maybe there’s a simpler answer, Chuck. An answer you don’t want to face up to,” he closes the manila folder, killing the case.

“I am _not_ crazy,” he laughs with rage, “In fact, it seems to me that I may be the only sane one in this room! What did he offer you, Ernesto, a raise? Or better yet, to send you to law school so that he could raise you as his pet.”

“That’s enough, Chuck,” Howard crosses his arms, refusing to entertain his partner’s line of manipulation.

“I don’t know what either of you did, but—“ Realization washes over his face, “The coffee. Oh, Ernesto, I assumed your incompetence was to blame for handing me the wrong coffee, but you must’ve switched the tape while I was in the bathroom. Where have you hidden it? Is it still in the house, or have you stashed it on your person?”

Ernie’s increasing discomfort at his employer’s insight tempts him to confess, but Howard’s pull is fortunately stronger.

“Chuck.” Hamlin rises, signaling the end to their meeting, “If you continue with these outlandish accusations, I’ll have to send for security.”

“You’d love that wouldn’t you? Remove me from my own building!” He turns to his left, redirecting his energy to whom he perceives as the weaker of his two opponents, “Show me, Ernesto, show me where you’ve hidden the tape.”

In no time at all, Chuck’s been escorted out of the building, Ernie and Howard trailing behind. Ernesto feels an obligation to exit through the double doors and drive Chuck back to his house, but his disgraced employer severs their connection with a single, burning look.

Back in his office, Howard gratefully accepts the stolen tape, thanking Ernesto for his service. He holds the cassette as he would a sapphire, light glinting through the transparent plastic.

“What do you need me to do now, sir?”

“Huh?”

Ernie stands with his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for another assignment.

“You know what? Why don’t you take the day off. You’ve done enough for today,” in a rare display of genuine generosity, Hamlin flashes a dentist-whitened smile to convey his satisfaction, and Ernesto departs with a divided heart: light with relief and weighed down by deceit.


	8. Chapter 8

The tapping of keys and the scribble of pens are the only sounds Kim hears for hours. Sure, a few clients show up, asking for Jimmy, but she informs them that he’s unavailable due to an illness in the family, once more covering for him and playing the role of receptionist. Jimmy had left without a word, cleaning up his mess and spraying some flower-scented bathroom mist to cover up the gin smell.

She works tirelessly, eating the sandwich she packed for lunch as she combs over documents and checks for email responses to her newspaper paralegal ad. A phone call at 2:35PM lifts her spirits; perhaps someone has accepted the offer to aid her in sorting through the ocean of Mesa Verde paperwork. Her hopes are dashed as she sees that it’s only Howard.

“Kim Mc—Offices of Wexler & McGill, Kim Wexler speaking,” she hastily backtracks, damning herself for making such an embarrassing mistake that she knows Howard will catch.

“Kim. Did you get a visit from Chuck recently?”

“Yes.” Shit. It’s happening. She has another case on her lap, and she’s not even sorted with her first priority client.

“And he told you his theory about Jimmy, right?”

“Yes.” Something about this call feels off the books. Shouldn’t he be scheduling an official meeting?

“This is important: I need to know exactly what you said to him about it,” Howard watches his partner through the blinds into the HHM parking lot. Chuck, barred from entering the building, continues until he reaches the road, apparently intent on walking the 5 miles home.

“Nothing really. I basically told him to leave. Why? What’s going on?”

“I need _exact words_ , Kim.”

Yesterday afternoon replays in her head vividly.

“Uh, it was something like ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’ Then he left.”

“Good. That’s good. You didn’t engage at all with him about what was on the tape.”

“Howard,” she’s thoroughly worried. If he’s heard the tape, aren’t they going to prosecute? “Tell me what’s going on.”

“As you probably know, Chuck wants to bring Jimmy to court over doctoring the Mesa Verde files. Now I suspected Jimmy may have been involved at the start because Chuck just doesn’t make mistakes,” Howard sits at his desk, reclining slightly, “But his unwillingness to admit to a possible mistake has caused the firm an incredible amount of embarrassment. I have to make a tough move here. If we take this to court, which we’re not by the way, I’d assume you—or whoever’s representing Jimmy—would call Chuck’s mental stability into question. Even if HHM does win, imagine the PR disaster.”

His argument makes sense. After a year and a half away from HHM, Chuck reemerges into the public eye ready to draw negative media attention with a mental breakdown. Chuck would insist that the courthouse cut down on its electricity use and maybe even raise awareness for his ‘allergy.’ Howard was storing him like an inconvenient skeleton in HHM’s closet. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is…

“What is Chuck saying about this decision? He can’t be handling it well.”

“That’s why I’m calling you, Kim. I had someone switch out the tapes. All Chuck has now is a blank cassette, so you need to pretend like there was no confession. Can you do that for me, Kim?”

Hearing Howard admit to knowingly obstructing justice for the name of the firm makes her sick to her stomach, but she knows she doesn't have a choice. There was no free time or money for her to represent Jimmy, and without the tape, there was no case.

“Kim. I need an answer.”

“I’ll do it.”

Ending the phone call, she feels the floor drop out from underneath her as she fully realizes that Howard, her boss and respected mentor of 10 years, is no more honorable or principled than Jimmy.


End file.
